tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-47794195800464838062017-05-04T00:56:20.504-07:00Miss UnruffledMy Mother, like many, saved various remnants from my childhood. I usually find pieces of my history tucked into the pages of a handed down book or in a box of "do you want any of this?"
I don't remember exactly when the construction paper ribbon appeared, but it brought with it the promise of hope. "Miss Unruffled", it said, and it had my name on it. Imagine...!Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18092599135558415572noreply@blogger.comBlogger96125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4779419580046483806.post-90254670179175755772017-05-04T00:46:00.001-07:002017-05-04T00:47:55.384-07:00<div style="text-align: justify;">"I want life to be simple again," she says, while wondering if it ever actually was. "I'm so tired.&nbsp; My therapist says I'm bored, and while there is much truth in that statement, it is so not that straightforward."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I'm too tired to expand on these musings but now that I have my room set up in a way that kind of works (for now), I can see myself writing more.&nbsp; Not necessarily here, but I will be writing somewhere.&nbsp; I'm enjoying the feel of keys beneath my fingers again. Therapeutic, the muted click and rhythmic, mindlessness of typing.&nbsp; Thank whatever/whoever for spellcheck because I no longer care to backspace. Get it out and clean it up later.&nbsp;</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">For now, goodnight.</div>Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18092599135558415572noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4779419580046483806.post-22024914416539622502017-02-03T17:13:00.002-08:002017-02-03T17:13:14.547-08:00Oh - heyYeah. Um... the <a href="http://miss-unruffled.blogspot.ca/2012/06/titanic.html" target="_blank">ship</a> went down. I'm not without injury or loss but I'm treading water and somehow think I'll be okay.Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18092599135558415572noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4779419580046483806.post-28796586402071256842015-01-11T13:54:00.002-08:002015-01-11T13:54:45.412-08:00Dear mom...<div align="justify">I know it's a common theme for parents to want better for their children﻿- hell, I feel the same regarding Kitten- but it is no longer your place to decide what's good enough for me. Feel however you want, that's yours, but I'm having a tough time with having it foisted upon me. I'm sorry that you don't feel that I'm growing fast enough. I'm sorry my life isn't as you want it to be- that I'm not coming to your conclusions (or that I may be, but not fast enough). I'm seeing even more clearly that it's about the journey and I hate to tell you this but I may never reach the outcome that you want for me. You see, you want what's best for me but you see "best" through the filter of your own story. You want for me the outcome you wish you'd had, and that just wouldn't be right for me. It's not personal! I'm not punishing you by traveling my road any more than I was punishing you when I weaned before you were ready! Please mom, take your heartbreak and own it! Stop blaming us because until you do, you can't nurture anything more than the "injustice" that feeds you!<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></div><div align="justify">And I am mortally tired of not being good enough.</div>Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18092599135558415572noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4779419580046483806.post-71275146540730104932012-06-11T14:42:00.001-07:002012-06-11T14:42:03.461-07:00TitanicThe ship is sinking and I'm being asked whether I'm going down with it.&nbsp; I don't know how to answer...Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18092599135558415572noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4779419580046483806.post-2911328189614316912012-05-23T15:55:00.001-07:002012-05-23T15:55:09.983-07:00It can always get worse...Okay.&nbsp; So, I haven't been writing because I've been really broken, lately.&nbsp; With the violent collapse of the business, I didn't have much left in me for writing.&nbsp;<br /><br />Since my last post, Wolf has begun a new adventure which requires us to work more than full-time hours with no pay, yet.&nbsp; Kitten works in the same place, one day/week, and is the only one of us with a pay cheque.&nbsp; We have 2 additional people living in the house (to help with rent, haha), neither of whom have pay cheques.&nbsp; This work also makes it really difficult for me to draw (I've got something going on in my joints/tendons which has resulted in constant pain and numbness from my shoulders to my fingers) and Wolf's ankles are degenerating at a visible rate from being on his feet over 70 hrs/week.<br />Yup, things are pretty dire.&nbsp; And yet, every morning the sun rises.&nbsp; Time just keeps going.&nbsp; The world is not ending (even though it feels like it is) and that means there are still options.<br /><br />I'm looking and open to possibilities.&nbsp; I'm available Sundays from 4pm and Mondays until whatever time can get me to the bus stop by 3:05pm.&nbsp;&nbsp;Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18092599135558415572noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4779419580046483806.post-1331991866621456392012-04-14T16:35:00.000-07:002012-05-23T14:50:38.075-07:00All the way, then back again...<div style="text-align: justify;">Sigh.<br /><br /><br />I have been writing, just not here.&nbsp; I have windows live writer - or some such equivalent - which holds more entries than this one (even though it looks the same and publishes to this one with and internet connection and the push of a button).</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">First, let's do a short-form, catch-up:</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Kitten's 14, has a different boyfriend who both Wolf and I love, is taller than me and still brings more sunshine into my world than anything; I finally cut my hair... to my <a href="http://miss-unruffled.blogspot.ca/2010/11/day-four-long-weekend.html" target="_blank">shoulders </a>(<a href="http://miss-unruffled.blogspot.ca/2010/11/day-five-carry-on-luggage.html" target="_blank">haha</a> <a href="http://miss-unruffled.blogspot.ca/2010/11/day-six-stuff-we-carry-never-gets.html" target="_blank">haha</a>) but have yet to do anything even remotely funky; we've burned through another business (since my last news-y post) and I'm done with those, now.&nbsp; I don't have the constitution for dealing with contractors or big construction companies... and I'm done with being the little guy, because the little guy can't do anything when the big guy refuses to pay, steals your tools, finally returns some of them when threatened with police action, but returns them with cut cords and missing parts and screws where screws have no right to be... Y'know, if that kind of thing happened in real life.&nbsp; (Yup.&nbsp; It kinda makes a person go into hiding from everything/one that she legally can.)</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">So, now that I can see the dismal end of that particular adventure I'm ready to turn my face into the sun.&nbsp; I haven't felt warmth for long enough that it feels like the memory of a movie viewed in childhood.&nbsp; <i>Feels </i>like.&nbsp; Bear with me.&nbsp; I'm dozy.&nbsp;&nbsp;</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">And I'm drawing again.&nbsp; That was the point of this entry. I'm not only <i>just </i>drawing but people are asking me about prices and I have one commission in the works, with 2-4 more in possibility-land!&nbsp; Whoa, hey?!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div>Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18092599135558415572noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4779419580046483806.post-90648826632828688422011-12-16T17:48:00.001-08:002011-12-16T17:48:03.098-08:00Darkness falls…<p align="justify">It’s one of those Twilight Zone afternoons.&nbsp; The fog is thick enough, beyond the trees, to make me question the existence of a world beyond.&nbsp; <em>(Am I removed from space and time, trapped in a finite universe, away from all that once was?)</em>&nbsp; Quiet and eerie, the air casts a violet haze over all I see.&nbsp; Even the Christmas lights seem out of place, their cheer failing to reach beyond the gloom. </p> <p align="justify">Darkness comes early these days; quick enough that you can watch it fall if you’re patient.&nbsp; I can’t watch, though.&nbsp; I’m uncomfortable with this moment.&nbsp; All I can do is glance up now and again, sometimes to be pulled into the heaviness.&nbsp; </p> <p align="justify">On nights like this, dusk has a soul and it isn’t peaceful.&nbsp; Eerie gives way to sinister as dusk approaches. It comes, creeping, slithering down our streets and onto lawns, searching for… what, I do not know.&nbsp; Shade with no sunlight, it travels on the wheels of fear and desolation.&nbsp; </p> <p align="justify">The heaviness thickens, coagulating into a sickening sense of terror and despair – the screaming wail that waits just below the breastbone for one more second.</p> <p align="justify">&nbsp;</p> <p align="justify">Then, as dusk deepens past twilight, the air loses its menace.&nbsp; The street light pours out an amber glow over the neighbourhood and - just like that – it’s simply night time.</p> Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18092599135558415572noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4779419580046483806.post-25298361014944461322010-11-23T02:06:00.000-08:002010-11-23T02:06:28.267-08:00Change... but not too quickly<div style="text-align: justify;">Our kitchen has an island, which in many homes equates extra counter space.&nbsp; It's an area which some families might use for meal preparation, baking - for whatever normal people use an extra expanse of counter.&nbsp; In our home, the island is where our junk congregates.&nbsp; Mail and newspapers, wrappers, receipts and various bits of paper gather to bask in the glory of our many, hydro-sucking pot lights.&nbsp; Last week, I decided to tackle the piles of debris in a long overdue attempt at creating order-without (y'know, because they say that's the first step to order-within).</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The standard tidy-up routine consists of sorting each piece of crap into new piles according to owner.&nbsp; Wolf's, Kitten's, Mom's, the landlord's and garbage.&nbsp; I took my crap and Wolf's crap to our room and put Kitten's crap outside her bedroom door (where it would stay for several more days) and had in my hand a bunch of crap for the garbage.&nbsp; As I made my way back across the living room, I became hyper aware of one item in my hand.&nbsp; It was a piece of Pale green paper, folded many times so it resembled a flattened tube.&nbsp; I'm a chronic checker (let me just make sure I have my keys... for the third time) which means I cannot throw anything out without first reading it.&nbsp; What if it's important?&nbsp; I unfolded the paper - a 4" square sheet of origami paper, coloured only on one side - and held in my hands one of the sweetest and slightly-less-innocent-than-I-would-have-liked love note.&nbsp; It was signed, in cursive, by the young man who enlivened our home for two and a half days, <a href="http://miss-unruffled.blogspot.com/2010/11/day-one.html">three weeks ago</a>.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I took a few days to panic and obsess about it before I told Kitten we had to chat.&nbsp; I told her that I'd used variations of a particular parental quip on many occasions but that I had to amend it.&nbsp; In the past, I've said, "You know you can talk to me about anything?" and "I want you to talk to me about whatever!"&nbsp; This time, I said, "Communication is imperative.&nbsp; I need you to talk to me and you need me to talk to you.&nbsp; Because the only other option is for me to assume."&nbsp; I don't like being blindsided.&nbsp; It tends to tweak my anxiety and I get a bit crazy.&nbsp; The chat ended up being more of a mom-ologue (which I tend to be completely blind to, in the moment).&nbsp;&nbsp;</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">When Wolf arrived home, I brought the whole thing to him.&nbsp; Typical man, he said, "So, what did she tell you?"&nbsp; Allow me to take this moment to look sheepish.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">He called Kitten.&nbsp; She arrived with her typical, "Yes, Daddy?"&nbsp; and the conversation truly began.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Wolf:</b>&nbsp; Mom showed me the note.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Kitten:</b>&nbsp; (deer-in-headlights-I'm-trying-to-look-innocent look)</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Wolf:</b>&nbsp; Is [he] your boyfriend?</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Kitten: </b>Yes.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Me:</b>&nbsp; What does that mean? </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Kitten:</b>&nbsp; (deer-in-headlights-what-the-hell-are-you-asking-me look)</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Wolf:</b>&nbsp; Since when?</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> <b>Kitten:</b>&nbsp; Since I was eight.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Wolf:</b>&nbsp; Have you kissed him?</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Kitten:</b>&nbsp; No.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Wolf:&nbsp;</b> Have you kissed any boys?</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Kitten:</b>&nbsp; Only you, Dad.&nbsp; </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Me:</b>&nbsp; So what does boyfriend/girlfriend mean to you?</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Kitten:&nbsp;</b> We hold hands.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Me:&nbsp;</b> (relief)</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><b>Wolf:</b>&nbsp; Good.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">It was a decent conversation.&nbsp; She's at the tail end of twelve and while there's a huge, screaming part of me that insists she's too young to be using the word boyfriend, I also know that there's nothing I can do about it.&nbsp; She was born into a family which boasts stubborn strength of conviction, for good or for ill.&nbsp; She will do what she will do out from under our watchful eyes<b>*.</b></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I spent a few more days lamenting the death of my 'baby girl' ("If drama was money, I'd be a millionaire" - Kitten) and then it snowed.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"> </div><div style="text-align: justify;">Due to recent extremely dire financial straits and a kid who doesn't complain, Kitten needed footwear.&nbsp; She's worn her runners folded at the heel almost since the day she got them. As a result, pinchy-toes have never been an issue.&nbsp; Snow is and there was no way I was letting her play in the snow with her heels hanging out of the backs of her shoes.&nbsp; So, Kitten got her first pair of grown up winter boots.&nbsp; She loved them so much she put them on at the till.&nbsp; </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">We had one more stop before heading home and I parked in a snow drift.&nbsp; Kitten leaped out of the truck as soon as Wolf had cleared the door.&nbsp; Off she tromped through the parking lot bent on trying out her new boots.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I watched her, independent and self assured, with my heart heavy.&nbsp; And then... I smiled.&nbsp; There was my daughter, a breath away from thirteen, climbing the biggest pile of snow in the lot.&nbsp; She thew her hands into the air and crowed her success at the mountain's summit.&nbsp; And she's still my Kitten.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">&nbsp; <b>*</b>which means she must stay under our watchful eyes until we're confident in her strength of character!</div>Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18092599135558415572noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4779419580046483806.post-87085477241350265492010-11-12T23:29:00.000-08:002010-11-12T23:29:25.107-08:00Day Twelve - Timing<div style="text-align: justify;">I sit down to write, nightly, but I keep leaving it 'til later each time.&nbsp; As a result, I'm sore and edgy (not in that hip, desirable way) and ready for bed.&nbsp; I certainly don't want to use what little energy I have left trying to create witty quips.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">So... tomorrow I will write earlier.</div>Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18092599135558415572noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4779419580046483806.post-91912859901237709392010-11-11T21:58:00.000-08:002010-11-11T21:58:00.781-08:00Day Eleven - In Remembrance.<div style="text-align: justify;">I'm taking the evening to process and be thankful.&nbsp; Remembering is important.&nbsp; Feeling is hard.</div>Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18092599135558415572noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4779419580046483806.post-81006756952324719372010-11-10T21:44:00.000-08:002010-11-10T21:44:23.489-08:00Day Ten - A Movie.Seeing as I'm not taking more than a symbolic part in NaBloPoMo, I can do this:<br /><br /><br />Have you seen Untamed Heart?&nbsp; Do so.Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18092599135558415572noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4779419580046483806.post-19757578736626942582010-11-09T21:59:00.000-08:002010-11-09T21:59:17.950-08:00Day Nine - Kitten.<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Vy9tYYyy-1c/TNopYpLBrHI/AAAAAAAAAG8/mWbmLqWEzRk/s1600/LittleIndianGirl.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Vy9tYYyy-1c/TNopYpLBrHI/AAAAAAAAAG8/mWbmLqWEzRk/s320/LittleIndianGirl.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wolf was so proud... He's Metis. '08</td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Vy9tYYyy-1c/TNopjDxGOMI/AAAAAAAAAHA/0wTU4JPqk9k/s1600/003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Vy9tYYyy-1c/TNopjDxGOMI/AAAAAAAAAHA/0wTU4JPqk9k/s320/003.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kitty torture 101&nbsp; '08</td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Vy9tYYyy-1c/TNoqWuOGLCI/AAAAAAAAAHI/8iqUlIoQoOE/s1600/em.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Vy9tYYyy-1c/TNoqWuOGLCI/AAAAAAAAAHI/8iqUlIoQoOE/s320/em.jpg" width="286" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fire and water. '08</td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Vy9tYYyy-1c/TNoppAQ_8GI/AAAAAAAAAHE/K0OxGCy6ChE/s1600/007.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Vy9tYYyy-1c/TNoppAQ_8GI/AAAAAAAAAHE/K0OxGCy6ChE/s320/007.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sweet as cinnamon.&nbsp; '08</td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Vy9tYYyy-1c/TNoq4xhhCQI/AAAAAAAAAHM/4L9ApEUdexg/s1600/Picture+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Vy9tYYyy-1c/TNoq4xhhCQI/AAAAAAAAAHM/4L9ApEUdexg/s320/Picture+5.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kitty torture 102&nbsp;&nbsp; '08</td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Vy9tYYyy-1c/TNorOntsS-I/AAAAAAAAAHQ/DTDhrgQYRAU/s1600/001.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Vy9tYYyy-1c/TNorOntsS-I/AAAAAAAAAHQ/DTDhrgQYRAU/s320/001.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sometime a Klingon invasion is just what we need.<br /><br /><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Vy9tYYyy-1c/TNor4DTRHCI/AAAAAAAAAHU/BjRiQ3rCLks/s1600/horses+002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Vy9tYYyy-1c/TNor4DTRHCI/AAAAAAAAAHU/BjRiQ3rCLks/s320/horses+002.JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Her secret weapon?&nbsp; Smiles...&nbsp; '08</td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Vy9tYYyy-1c/TNosMPQ-gpI/AAAAAAAAAHY/eM7spgWM1hE/s1600/misc+033.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Vy9tYYyy-1c/TNosMPQ-gpI/AAAAAAAAAHY/eM7spgWM1hE/s320/misc+033.JPG" width="213" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">or pouts.&nbsp; '08</td></tr></tbody></table><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Vy9tYYyy-1c/TNosiPkpjyI/AAAAAAAAAHc/SBb6HxVpKTo/s1600/0331001045.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Vy9tYYyy-1c/TNosiPkpjyI/AAAAAAAAAHc/SBb6HxVpKTo/s320/0331001045.jpg" width="320" />&nbsp;</a></td><td style="text-align: center;">&nbsp;</td><td style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td style="text-align: center;">&nbsp;</td><td style="text-align: center;">&nbsp;</td><td style="text-align: center;">&nbsp;</td><td style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sometimes both!&nbsp; '10</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Vy9tYYyy-1c/TNos1a5iUXI/AAAAAAAAAHg/mAiUtnqyEgA/s1600/016.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_Vy9tYYyy-1c/TNos1a5iUXI/AAAAAAAAAHg/mAiUtnqyEgA/s320/016.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">She's begun to morph... which happens to be the first word she ever read</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">&nbsp;- Metamorphosis.&nbsp; '10</td></tr></tbody></table><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Vy9tYYyy-1c/TNouSyVCPRI/AAAAAAAAAHk/2tT0-XiNWjA/s1600/Kitt.Dance.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Vy9tYYyy-1c/TNouSyVCPRI/AAAAAAAAAHk/2tT0-XiNWjA/s640/Kitt.Dance.jpg" width="323" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">And she's slowly dancing away from me, into her own life...&nbsp; '10</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br /></div>Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18092599135558415572noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4779419580046483806.post-26243401648487870092010-11-08T19:34:00.000-08:002010-11-08T19:34:26.415-08:00Day Eight - Dragging...<div style="text-align: justify;">Sadness is pulling me under.&nbsp; I've been fighting it, giving it all I have for a couple of months.&nbsp; Today, it's almost too much.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Stress, right?&nbsp; We all have it.&nbsp; We all soldier through life's ups and downs.&nbsp; Sometimes, though, there just doesn't seem to be quite enough <i>up</i> to balance out the <i>down.</i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">So, I'm going to keep this short.&nbsp; Misery may love company but I wouldn't wish this on my worst enemy.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Have a peaceful night.</div>Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18092599135558415572noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4779419580046483806.post-22005820550754134682010-11-07T16:24:00.000-08:002010-11-07T16:24:50.256-08:00Day Seven - It's the little things...<div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;">Do you ever have those days when nothing feels right?&nbsp; Everything is just a hair... <i>off.</i>&nbsp; Physically, I'm feeling a touch under the weather.&nbsp; I'm emotionally 'blah.'&nbsp; I'm not tired enough to sleep, but I'm not interested in folding laundry or mopping the floor.</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;">Whenever I cloud over like this, the universe offers me a little morsel, something that carries with it the possibility of a smile, a faded ray of sunshine.&nbsp; Today, I was reminded of this:</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://www.sloganizer.net/en/" target="_blank" title="Sloganizer - the slogan generator"><img alt="generated by sloganizer.net" border="0" src="http://www.sloganizer.net/en/image,Beth,black,blue.png" title="This slogan was generated by sloganizer.net" /></a></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;">It displays a new 'slogan' with each page view.&nbsp; I was introduced to <i>The Sloganizer </i>several years ago when my blogging habits were more regular and far more whiny.&nbsp; I still have the blog, but it prefers to be called a <i>journal</i>... a live<i>journal</i>.&nbsp; I was checking my friend page - I still have a friend who writes, once in a while - and something moved me to look at my profile.&nbsp; There it was...&nbsp; "WolfSong is better than chocolate."</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;">Sloganizer therapy.&nbsp; I recommend it for anyone.&nbsp; ;)</span></div>Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18092599135558415572noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4779419580046483806.post-89899466125290896342010-11-06T20:46:00.000-07:002010-11-06T20:46:41.379-07:00Day Six - The stuff we carry never gets lighter...<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Vy9tYYyy-1c/TNSO4QY3GMI/AAAAAAAAAGs/YyvafrW5OAQ/s1600/hair.front.jpg" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Vy9tYYyy-1c/TNSO4QY3GMI/AAAAAAAAAGs/YyvafrW5OAQ/s320/hair.front.jpg" width="168" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dirty mirrors and work clothes.&nbsp;</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"> By 2002, Kitten was four and I found myself in the midst of a re-kindling.&nbsp; After two years of only telephone and email contact, Wolf and I had a face-to-face visit.&nbsp; It lasted ten days, out here on the Island, and resulted in Kitten and my relocation to Ontario to create our new family.&nbsp; Why Ontario?&nbsp; Well, Wolf was the sole proprietor of a thriving company which wouldn't have taken well to uprooting.&nbsp;&nbsp;</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">&nbsp;<span style="font-size: x-small;">... yes, this does have something to do with hair and my issues therewith...</span></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: justify;">My bleach phase was on hiatus and I hadn't done anything more than remove the remaining white tips from my hair.&nbsp; Ontario weather is brilliant!&nbsp; I grew up in arid Alberta and, therefore, didn't know my hair was curly.&nbsp; The constant Hamilton humidity meant twelve hours of air-drying time after I washed my hair.&nbsp; I finally had a wash-n-go 'do!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">So, the very air was my friend, and my hair was growing ridiculously fast.&nbsp; My life was fresh and new.&nbsp; I was ready to start playing again.&nbsp; There was only one problem.&nbsp; Wolf was the sole proprietor of a thriving company in Hamilton, Ontario - I was 'Dharma' to Wolf's 'Greg,' but with less self worth and more guilt and a martyr complex that beat all.&nbsp; I was bound to the rules of upper-middle class society.&nbsp; No visible piercings.&nbsp; No funky colours.&nbsp; Buy yourself a nice dress...</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">And then, two years had passed.&nbsp; My hair was mid-back length and shapeless.&nbsp; Wolf was afraid to let me cut it, so I let myself get talked in to a 'complimentary birthday haircut' by our stylist friend.&nbsp; Oops.&nbsp; I asked for long layers, she layered it.&nbsp; I walked out with diamond head.&nbsp; You know, where the fullest part of the hair is at the jaw line and it tapers both up and down from there?&nbsp; Well, I stuck with that cut for about two weeks (see a pattern here?) before I grabbed the scissors.&nbsp; Wolf said he'd feel better if he cut it, as he could see the back of my head.&nbsp; So, he cut it.&nbsp; That one didn't even last 48 hours before I fixed it.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Two years later I cut off several inches in an attempt to clear up my split ends.&nbsp; I swore I'd start trimming in every couple of months, but it was already too late.&nbsp; The obsession was growing without my realizing.&nbsp; While I was busy being resentful, I neglected to see the strengthening correlation between my okay-ness and my hair.&nbsp; And my hair got longer.&nbsp; Two more years later and I had six inches removed.&nbsp; It was back to an inch above my bra strap.&nbsp; And my hair got longer...</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I'm standing at the crossroads, nine years from my last play-with-my-hair day.&nbsp; My locks are long enough that they get caught under my leg when I get into the truck.&nbsp; They are badly damaged from years of sweater collars and it takes me almost an hour to get shampoo and conditioner through and then rinsed out of them.&nbsp; It's like having a baby.&nbsp; Everything has become difficult: sleeping, showering, cleaning, working... it's <i>always</i> in the way.&nbsp; Even if I put it up...&nbsp; It takes way too much energy, and it isn't energy I want to spend.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Are you asking how it got to this point?&nbsp; Why I didn't cut it sooner, if it was bugging me so much?&nbsp; Because it's long.&nbsp; It's really, <i>really</i> long.&nbsp; In a world where long hair is defined as 'below the shoulders,' it has become more than novelty.&nbsp; It's a defining characteristic.&nbsp; A part of me points out how pathetic that is.&nbsp; I'm a great person.&nbsp; I'm kind and likable.&nbsp; None of those things is effected by the length of my hair.&nbsp; My value or 'specialness' isn't decreased because I don't have long, unhealthy, resented hair.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Besides, it's not like it won't grow back...</div>Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18092599135558415572noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4779419580046483806.post-66090909051223449242010-11-05T19:00:00.000-07:002010-11-05T19:00:27.970-07:00Day Five - Carry-on Luggage<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Vy9tYYyy-1c/TNSO6Rvn7QI/AAAAAAAAAG0/edH14B8afKs/s1600/hair2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Vy9tYYyy-1c/TNSO6Rvn7QI/AAAAAAAAAG0/edH14B8afKs/s320/hair2.jpg" width="160" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Braided.</td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;">Baggage.&nbsp; I think it's safe to say that we all have it, in one way or another.&nbsp; I like trying to 'checking' it, banishing it to the cavernous depths of my metaphorical plane, hoping that the airline <i>will </i>lose it.&nbsp; Sometimes I shove it into the overhead compartment, out of sight but still looming over me.&nbsp; And no matter how hard I work on 'dealing' with it, the Universe is always more than willing to remind me that it's still here, tethered and weighing me down. Anchoring me in garbage.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The interesting thing is, all of my bags match.&nbsp; They don't all hold the same thing - that would be silly - but each holds something undeniably related and tied in to the others.&nbsp; It doesn't matter what the issue-of-the-day may be, somehow it will trigger 98.669% of all the other crap in my head.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Vy9tYYyy-1c/TNSO3Mfpa4I/AAAAAAAAAGo/DKKnXyxHN-A/s1600/hair.back.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Vy9tYYyy-1c/TNSO3Mfpa4I/AAAAAAAAAGo/DKKnXyxHN-A/s320/hair.back.jpg" width="197" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Since 2002.</td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;">I have letting go issues and a self-worth disability, anxiety disorder and a sprinkle of debilitating depression.&nbsp; And they're all tied together feeding on and being fed off of each other.&nbsp; I was under the impression that the passage of time would lead to maturity, which would bring wisdom and, eventually, peace.&nbsp; You know what the passage&nbsp; of time leads to?&nbsp; More birthdays,&nbsp; which leads to older-than-ever-ness and, inevitability, wrinkles.&nbsp; Not overly comforting.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I used to have a hair fixation when I was younger.&nbsp; I bleached and dyed and refused to trim because I <i>needed</i> every battered inch that I could get.&nbsp; And I couldn't leave the house without styling it.&nbsp; You know how some women can fix a bad hair day with an elastic and a ball cap?&nbsp; I wasn't one of those.&nbsp; If my hair was <i>shite, </i>I was <i>shite.</i></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Vy9tYYyy-1c/TNSO5vkvNEI/AAAAAAAAAGw/Shhax2V5wqA/s1600/hair.side.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_Vy9tYYyy-1c/TNSO5vkvNEI/AAAAAAAAAGw/Shhax2V5wqA/s320/hair.side.jpg" width="158" /></a><i> </i>When Kitten was born, my hair was three or four inches past&nbsp; my shoulders.&nbsp; Life with a new baby doesn't leave a whole lot of time to play with one's hair, so for the first year of Kitten's life, my hair lived in a pony tail and grew.&nbsp; Close to her first birthday, I was sitting in the kitchen of the house I shared with my mom.&nbsp; My sister was visiting and she was playing with my long, straw-like - in both colour and texture - pony tail.&nbsp; I love having my hair played with so I removed the elastic and revelled in the attention.&nbsp; Eventually, though, her intention cut through my pleasure.&nbsp; She was cringing.&nbsp; I couldn't see her, but it was strong enough to be felt, none the less.&nbsp; This set me to thinking about how gross my hair looked, truly.&nbsp; With the remnants of a bad blond job* taking up about half the length of my hair, I knew cutting it was the only remedy.&nbsp; I had tried dying darker - twice at home and once in a salon - only to have the colour wash out.&nbsp; Apparently my hair was too porous.&nbsp; Something to do with the size of the dye molecules.... &nbsp; "Hurry up, before I change my mind."&nbsp; I was that unspecific and my sister was running for scissors.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">She cut my hair to my shoulders which is my least favourite style in the world.* &nbsp; A few weeks later, while visiting family in Calgary, I had it cut <a href="http://www.girlskickbutt.com/images/profile/sarah_mclachlan.jpg">Sarah McLachlan</a> c.1998.&nbsp; Having curly hair made this a very disappointing style and a few weeks after returning from our visit, I enlisted a friend and we took the clippers to my head.&nbsp; I loved it and kept it that was for several months.&nbsp; Right up until I noticed the side effects.&nbsp; I didn't mind the flirty smiles from the ladies, but the threatening smiles from some of the men made me a little nervous.&nbsp; And I hated when senior citizens thought I was something to fear.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The great thing about those months was that my fixation was broken.&nbsp; My hair became something that I could play with.&nbsp; I bleached, properly this time, and spent a while 'looking like sunshine,' according to Kitten.&nbsp; I was reinventing myself and I loved it.</div><br /><div style="text-align: center;">&nbsp;...<span style="font-size: x-small;">to be continued...</span></div><span style="font-size: x-small;"></span><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span><br /><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Vy9tYYyy-1c/TNSO4QY3GMI/AAAAAAAAAGs/YyvafrW5OAQ/s1600/hair.front.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">*(note the natural colour of my hair... I used a box of blond dye, twice, two weeks apart, in order to get a lovely orange colour)</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">*as it was the style my mother had throughout my childhood.&nbsp; Show me a kid who grew up in a dysfunctional family who want to look like her mother and I'll.... I don't know.</div>Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18092599135558415572noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4779419580046483806.post-86017574003233184422010-11-04T22:23:00.000-07:002010-11-04T22:23:31.628-07:00Day Four - Long weekend...<div style="text-align: justify;">Tomorrow I'm getting the day off.&nbsp; Not my usual day off - running Kitten to classes; knitting or reading in the truck or on the job-site all day.&nbsp; No, I get a real, at home with Kitten, doing whatever we feel like (while catching up on reporting), morning to evening, all day kind of day off!&nbsp; I'm a bit excited!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Vy9tYYyy-1c/TNOR9D_tUTI/AAAAAAAAAGk/VUAZUX-jfjs/s1600/hair1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Vy9tYYyy-1c/TNOR9D_tUTI/AAAAAAAAAGk/VUAZUX-jfjs/s400/hair1.jpg" width="228" /></a>&nbsp;On a completely unrelated but equally exciting note, I've decided to hack off my hair!&nbsp; Currently, I only have one pic that sort of shows the length.&nbsp; Tomorrow, I'll upload my camera.&nbsp; It still hold my 'good-bye, hair' pictures.&nbsp; </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I'm running on half brain, right now.&nbsp; I was doing really well until I junked out on leftover pre-Halloween candy (the stuff Wolf and I bought for ourselves the day before the ghouls came out - it's only fair).&nbsp; I felt great for quite a while, but the crash has hit like a ton-a and I have to put my head down... or eat more!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Until then, then.</div><br /><br /><br /><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_Vy9tYYyy-1c/TNOQS73vrPI/AAAAAAAAAGg/AaJEStJVhL0/s1600/002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a></div>Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18092599135558415572noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4779419580046483806.post-47778623587595254742010-11-03T21:37:00.000-07:002010-11-03T21:37:26.155-07:00Day Three - L is for the way you make me laugh...<b>wolf:</b> What's wrong<br /><br /><b>me: </b>Headache.&nbsp; And I think I need some dental work.<br /><br /><b>wolf:</b> Here, take this.<br /><br /><b>me: </b>Shouldn't I take it with food or something?<br /><br /><b>wolf: </b>Oh, you should be fine... I can't guarantee anything, I mean, it is an opiate.&nbsp; You may hallucinate there's a gorgeous, naked man in your bedroom.<br /><br />And this is one of the many reasons why I love him so very much.&nbsp; Of course, he's currently pacing around in a bit of a huff because I'm blogging instead of enjoying my naked man hallucinations.&nbsp; This is not one of the reasons I love him, but is more than tolerable in view of all the wonder, joy and humour he brings into my world.<br /><br />Sleeping where I sit...Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18092599135558415572noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4779419580046483806.post-45425548881910593452010-11-02T23:45:00.000-07:002010-11-02T23:45:33.838-07:00Extra...<div style="text-align: justify;">Never write emails to people you don't know really well - or at all, for that matter - when you're too tired to keep a thought cohesive all the way from your brain to your fingers...</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><i>Trust </i>me.</div>Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18092599135558415572noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4779419580046483806.post-76144778456046286382010-11-02T22:22:00.000-07:002010-11-02T22:22:06.057-07:00Day Two - Gifts<div style="text-align: justify;">There are times when what we've given to life gets reflected back at us.&nbsp; Sometimes it comes as a realization, while watching a stranger's behaviour.&nbsp; Sometimes it hits closer to home.&nbsp; My experience of motherhood has given me many of these moments.&nbsp; Sometimes it sucks, like when I heard my Kitten chastising her dolly using my voice and words.&nbsp; Or when I hear her say things like, "I can't..."&nbsp; That's one of my personal favourites.&nbsp; Thankfully, I only hear that one about twice a year.&nbsp; The great thing is, unless we've been icy or ogreish from day one, now and again we also get to see a reflection of our good sides.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"></div><div style="text-align: justify;">This evening, while I was dishing up my dinner (Kitten and Nana had already eaten and Wolf was eating in the solace of our room), Kitten regaled me with tales from the book she just finished... for the third time.&nbsp; After a few minutes, she opened up the first page - a warning page - and read it aloud.&nbsp; Then, she flipped to the author's note and read out his words.&nbsp; When she was done, she smiled and said, "Y'know Mom, I really think you'd like this book and I think it would be cool if I read it to you, y'know, when we're in the truck and stuff.&nbsp; I mean, you've spent so much time reading out loud to me."</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">So, with thankfulness and joy, this evening I began listening to a dynamic narration of <i>Rick Riordan's </i><a href="http://www.rickriordan.com/my-books/kane-chronicles/books/red-pyramid.aspx">The Red Pyramid</a>.&nbsp; It's a brilliant story that doesn't need to be read aloud by a loved one... but if you happen to have one handy, I'd recommend you both (all) give it a try.&nbsp;&nbsp;</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>Bliss...</i></span></div>Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18092599135558415572noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4779419580046483806.post-89145512271773188722010-11-01T17:11:00.000-07:002010-11-01T17:11:56.791-07:00Day One<div style="text-align: justify;">A thought occurred to me, just after posting my last entry.&nbsp; I really enjoyed the last NaBloPoMo in which I participated.&nbsp; I loved the commitment of sitting down in stillness, at least once per day, to focus on writing something - anything.&nbsp; So, I decided to commit myself to a little piece of sanity, whether I'm an official part of the annual event or not.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I'm not, for the record.&nbsp; The universe took me to task for overusing one particular excuse and I found my quiet, only-child household 'enlivened' by a very high energy, thirteen-year-old, oldest-brother-of-four!&nbsp; I was gifted with the opportunity to learn what "chaotic" truly meant!</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">I have to get Kitten to dance class and just might have a moment, once we return, to add a bit more detail to this too-brief illustration.</div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">Facing the future with... something,</div><div style="text-align: justify;">Beth</div>Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18092599135558415572noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4779419580046483806.post-68407423687142311522010-10-26T20:07:00.000-07:002010-10-26T20:07:32.128-07:00It's coming...Once again, October is almost over which means NaBloPoMo is on my mind.&nbsp; The thing is, I'm not feeling really secure in my world right now and I don't know if I should unleash that on whoever still stops in here.<br /><br />So, iffen yer feeling so inclined, drop me a comment of encouragement and I'll add my name to the ring.Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18092599135558415572noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4779419580046483806.post-8668931497082852552010-03-22T19:25:00.000-07:002010-03-22T21:20:00.720-07:00Whew.When life is a bit calmer I'll write. I'm sure I've said that before. The thing is, I avoid writing when things are messed up because I refused to let this become a whine blog, like my last one, filled to the top with negativity, depression and drama. The thing is, the farther I get from my last post, the more I find myself thinking about how funny the story has been - drama included - and wish I had kept up a running commentary of the whole thing!<br /><br />Examples? <br /><ul style="text-align: justify;"><li>My last entry found me packing a three bedroom house. Not too big a deal aside from the sheer volume of crap that a family can accumulate over the course of a few years. The challenge was that we were moving into a very small space for a few months. We needed to decide what we could live without for a while and what was truly necessary for survival. Hahaha. That was(n't) so funny.<br /></li><li>The small space we were moving into was a 28' trailer (with a pop-out) situated in our neighbours driveway and across the street from where I was packing.</li><li>The trailer was not a winter unit which meant we were wiping condensation off the windows and walls everyday in order to control a potential mildew problem. <br /></li><li>In the time we were in the trailer, Wolf and I got the dreaded H1N1 and lived to tell about it. Kitten remained perfectly healthy during this time and revelled in her role as caregiver.</li><li>We ended up in that trailer from October 31st until sometime in the first week of March; I can't precisely remember because February 14th marked the first day of The Great ClusterF**k, and I've been a little crazier ever since.</li></ul><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><ul style="text-align: justify;"><li><span style="font-style: italic;">The Great ClusterF**k deserves a bullet of its own. (Maybe even an indent, but I don't have that option with blogger and I don't remember any HTML.) It all started with an innocent phone call... (cue flashback) Things were getting lean in the work department. We were driving toward the exit of our local grocery store parking lot when Wolf hollered at me to "follow that gold car!" I did. Thankfully, the driver of the gold car wasn't going far. He pulled into a space one lot over at which point Wolf leapt from the truck to say 'Hi.' The point to this minor stalking was to get a phone number from the driver of the gold car. Apparently, Wolf used to work with gold-car-driver's son and had begun a deal (years ago) to change the roof-ling on the guy's house. In under a week, we were in business together. The plan: He's leasing a house in town and has been renting out his house</span><span style="font-style: italic;"> which is on the lake</span><span style="font-style: italic;">. We'll move into his house for reduced rent while we work with him and while we renovate his house. His house has a hot tub, a pool and a generator which will run the whole house, water features included, in the event of power outage!<br /></span></li><li><span style="font-style: italic;">New plan: His house was trashed by the previous renters. We'll move into the place he's leasing in town. It's in "The Properties." (Yes, that is as pretentious as it sounds). The rent will be higher but we'll still work with him and help him renovate his house. <br /></span></li><li><span style="font-style: italic;">New plan: We'll move into his trailer and stay on the property. He'll stay in his house and break the lease on the house in town. It'll be cheaper for all concerned which'll put more money into the business. Don't worry, the trailer's way bigger than the one we were in; it's 38'!!</span></li></ul><div style="text-align: justify;">It was about that point where I snapped.<span style="font-style: italic;"></span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"></span></div><ul style="text-align: justify;"><li><span style="font-style: italic;">Okay. New plan: We'll take over the lease in town, he'll live in his house.... </span> I stopped listening. I decided that there was nothing beyond <span style="font-style: italic;">This Moment</span>. I planned nothing. I answered no questions. I ventured no opinions. I had no thoughts of my own, beyond my own actions. When Wolf asked, "So, what do you think?" I said, "Just tell me what's happening and I'll do it." It was both ugly and cathartic.</li></ul><br /><br />Funny, hey?<br /><br /><div style="text-align: justify;">At some point I'll tell you about the house and where this adventure has taken us, so far, but now I have to sleep. I have to work in the morning and get Kitten to Cartooning class and Marimba. Thanks be for other homeschooling families and the possibility of impromptu, week-night sleepovers! <br />Amen!<br /></div>Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18092599135558415572noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4779419580046483806.post-40736796789007203642009-10-20T15:31:00.001-07:002009-10-20T15:53:12.430-07:00Opportunities and possibilities.<div style="text-align: justify;">I've never enjoyed packing. Whichever form it takes, it always includes a tremendous amount of stress. What if I forget something that I desperately need?!! It's gotten to the point where I want to keep special suitcases packed all the time; the overnight bag, the weekender, camping must-haves. Sure, I'd have multiples of everything - contact solution and cases, shampoo and conditioner - but I'd also always have everything I needed.<br /><br />Or, I could give myself the time I need to prepare.<br /><br />I've been packing for the past two weeks, now. I should clarify that I started packing two weeks ago, packed for about 3 hours/day for two days, between hour long breaks playing <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">facebook</span> games. Not overly productive, really. Not even remotely enjoyable. It's my typical way of packing. Start early so I feel okay about myself, then leave everything else to three days before d-day. A flurry of stuffing random items into random boxes and labelling them as 'miscellaneous', and - <span style="font-style: italic;">poof </span>- I'm a soggy pile of tears and anxiety with years of living with boxes that I won't open because I don't want to have to organize their contents! <span style="font-style: italic;">Magic</span>!<br /><br />Yesterday and today have been good packing days. Wolf enlisted help in getting the big pieces of furniture out to the truck and into the storage unit while I've packed and done laundry. We have two weeks before we have to be out of this place so there's not too much pressure. We're keeping all of our necessities packed separately so we can still use them before taking them to our temporary digs. And somehow, for the first time, I'm actually having fun... okay, fun isn't the right word, but when I take a break, I can see what's been done. It gives me the motivation to keep going. It's fun-<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">ish</span>.<br /><br />Back to it...<br /></div>Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18092599135558415572noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4779419580046483806.post-81111710078718717792009-10-19T22:13:00.000-07:002009-10-19T22:18:20.773-07:00Phew!<div style="text-align: justify; font-family: georgia;">One whole day without Bejeweled Blitz. My most recent addiction. But I did get more packing and laundry done. Now, I'm going to watch House (and maybe Heroes) then bedtime!<br /><br />Clean sheets, de-cluttered space, clean shaven hubby and a tepid tea. What more does a girl need?<br /><br />Obviously not a decent blog entry!<br /><br />Have a good night.</div>Bethhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18092599135558415572noreply@blogger.com0